When Opportunity Knocks
by Celtic Quill
Summary: What if, instead of Finn, Quinn had been the one to interrupt Rachel's date?


Spoilers for season four, episode three, "Makeover." My alternate take on the episode's end, because I had to write this with the horrible lack of Faberry the show has so far this season. :P I hope you enjoy! Pretty please leave a review to tell me what you think. :D You can go to my profile page to view the story banner at a larger size.

* * *

**When Opportunity Knocks**

As soon as Quinn Fabray stepped off the train, a cool evening breeze greeted her like an old friend.

It picked through her hair with gentle fingertips, caressing her chin and tickling the side-bangs across her forehead. For a moment, she froze, eyes shut and heart pounding with surety against her chest as she inhaled that distinctive New York air.

She opened her eyes and resumed walking down the sidewalk, her head held high and her red boots striking the pavement at a determined rhythm. The last time she'd been in the City had been a little over a month ago, when she'd helped Rachel Berry move into her NYADA dorm room.

The two girls had promised to keep in touch, but the sad truth was, as soon as classes had started for Rachel – and right after, when Quinn's had started at Yale – their texts had become sparse, phone calls even sparser, and Skype chats nonexistent.

Each new homework assignment added to her already monstrous pile made Quinn curse her college a little more; and every time she logged onto the computer and saw that Rachel was offline, or when she checked a next text message and saw it was only from her mom, she found her heart sink a little lower.

She wished Yale were located in New York, or NYADA were in Connecticut; the distance between her and Rachel had never felt farther or more evident than in the past few weeks.

Thinking about her friend made Quinn start to undergo common Rachel Berry symptoms: imaging those big, expressive brown eyes, luxurious brunette hair, and that mega-watt smile made her heart flutter.

Remembering the sound of Rachel's laugh – how it was pure, and genuine, and always warmed Quinn's stomach like a cup of hot chocolate – made a smile steal up her face.

And thinking back to all the times Rachel touched her, whether it be resting a hand against her upper arm, or linking their fingers together, or nudging her in the side with a playful elbow, made Quinn go weak in the knees.

Visions of Rachel filled her mind night and day; Quinn would sing softly in her dorm room's shower and pretend she was sharing a duet with Rachel's incomparable, Broadway-worthy voice. Quinn would do her homework, and each time she caught a grammatical mistake or spelling error she'd made, she would think about how Rachel used to talk so pedantically and go around correcting people when they misused 'who' versus 'whom.'

Four years ago, back when they were freshmen in high school rather than college, it had been easy for Quinn to pretend like she hated Rachel. She would pass off the simmering in her stomach or the acceleration of her heart around the girl to be passionate rage rather than just pure passion. But eventually, it had become impossible to lie to herself anymore, and Quinn had accepted that, yes, she liked Rachel… but just as a friend, of course.

After their complicated relationship had reached a place of steady companionship, Quinn had been able to fool herself into thinking she _only _loved Rachel as a friend.

Yeah, fooled herself for exactly five minutes before she knew it was no use. She'd finally had to start being honest with who she was, with what she really felt – well, inwardly, at least. That type of secret wasn't one she'd wanted to advertise on a billboard to her homophobic school and judgmental town.

But now she was a big girl at a big school with even bigger hopes and dreams.

And one of those dreams – hell, _the _dream – was for her to be with Rachel, once and for all.

This was why Quinn had chosen today to go to New York. That morning, she'd packed her overnight bag with necessary toiletries (if all went well, she would stay with Rachel; if all…didn't go well – _God, don't think about that, Quinn! _– she would stay in a cheap motel) and grabbed her yet-to-be-used Metro North Pass from its place carefully stuck in the top edge of her mirror, where she saw it every time she went to check her reflection.

Armed with only her winsome Quinn-Fabray-charm and the secret weapon of flowers she held within her hands, Quinn was ready to _do _this.

She was ready to confess her feelings, get the girl, and finally come out victorious for once in her life.

Thankfully, Rachel had texted her earlier last week, raving about how she and Kurt had gotten an apartment together (Quinn wasn't prepared for the strange blend of happiness for Rachel and jealousy toward Kurt she'd experienced when reading the message), and Quinn had had the foresight to ask her what the address was.

Now, Quinn was on her way to that very address. She passed by hundreds of people, dozens of stores, down too many streets to count, and through it all, she only had one thing on her mind: wondering what would happen when she told Rachel.

She hoped that Kurt would be out somewhere and that it would just be Rachel by herself at the apartment, but practical Quinn strongly doubted she would be lucky enough to score a private audience. She'd have to ask Rachel to take a walk with her; ooh, that would be good! Maybe she could confess her feelings to a backdrop of a picturesque sunset? Oh yes, blazing oranges and burning reds would frame Rachel's head like a halo, making the girl's beauty appear even more radiant than ever before.

A shiver of excitement danced down Quinn's spine as she rounded the corner onto the final block. Here it was: the place she was looking for. The destination of success or failure, of two hearts merging together or just her heart breaking apart.

Rachel and Kurt's apartment.

As she approached the door, fresh butterflies flew and swooped and dove around in her stomach. Her palms sprouted beads of sweat. Her mouth went dry, prompting her to carefully lick her red-lipsticked lips.

She could do this! She could do this! She _had _to do this!

Inhaling the deepest of breaths and releasing it slowly, Quinn stopped before the dark-wood door and held the bouquet of flowers within one fist while raising the other.

_This is it, _she thought. _All or nothing_.

She prayed to God it would be far more 'all' than 'nothing.'

And without looking back, Quinn knocked on the door.

* * *

If you had told Rachel Berry just a month ago that she would befriend a handsome, older guy who showered her with a deluge of constant compliments and kept after her like a faithful puppy at the heels of its owner, she would have told you that you'd lost your mind and proceeded to crack up laughing.

And if you had _proven _to her that you knew the future and it showed she would not only be on a romantic date with said guy, cooking for him – well, _attempting _to cook for him before ordering in Chinese – and swapping funny stories with him and then _kissing him,_ she would have told you that, okay, then _she _lost her mind.

Because anything short of a lobotomy couldn't explain why she would be frisking around with someone she had just met two weeks ago who really didn't know anything about her.

And yet here she was, doing exactly that, making-out with Brody Weston on the floor of her brand new apartment.

She didn't really know how it had started. One moment, they were laughing and pouring sparkling cider and hanging out like two friends who had known each other forever; and the next, his mouth was pressing into hers and she was too overwhelmed to move and he was deepening the kiss, and then she was, too.

She'd just told him a secret of hers – a cutesy but embarrassing story of her much younger self – and had felt closer to him by doing so.

"I've never told anyone that before, not even Finn," she'd said, as if Finn Hudson were the highest bar all other people had to compete with to get into her heart, even though that wasn't even true. She hadn't thought about Finn in days, and it was more of a reflex reaction than anything to mention him when discussing anything of her past, considering – for better or for worse – how _much _he'd been in her past.

She and Brody were having a good time, she'd thought, enjoying each other's friendly company, but then he was staring at her lips in a way that was far past just 'friendly,' and he was saying, "Well, just so you know, no matter how lovely this is, I'm hands-off. Just friends."

This was very strange, indeed, how he kept insisting they were just friends and saying he would respect her boundaries. Because he took every possible opportunity to hit on her or make these goo-goo, lover-boy eyes at her. Not that she was complaining, of course. Rachel would never pass up getting attention from an attractive suitor; hell, she _lived_ for attention of any kind, being the true performer that she was.

The next thing she knew, Brody's impossibly blue eyes were loving all over her lips, and she was bashful and blushing and looking down, and when she looked back up at him, he somehow took that as the nonverbal cue to proceed.

And proceed he did.

Their lips met, and Rachel felt wanted and desired and _sexy_ for the first time since she had started dating Finn all those years ago. For the first time in too long, she felt _needed_ again, validated from such a cute, funny guy practically throwing himself at her even when she had made it clear more than once that she didn't want a relationship with him.

She kissed him back just because she could, just because he was _there_, and he had chosen her. A talented upperclassmen at NYADA had chosen _her_, and if that wasn't one of the most flattering and ego-fluffing feelings in the world, she didn't know what was.

He was a pretty damn good kisser, too, even if she kept thinking about how strange it was to be kissing him and not actually focusing on the actual kiss itself. She guided her hand up the side of his face as he led her down onto the pillows propped behind them, his own hand slipping against her hip.

But something was wrong here.

Rachel's heart was pounding heavily when it should have been fluttering.

Her eyes were shut too tightly, as if she were bracing herself to be hit.

And her stomach was alive, all right, but not with butterflies – there were gnarled, prickly ropes tangling inside the pit, tying knots around her insides and making her feel like she was going to be sick.

So, apparently, there were a _lot _of things wrong here, with kissing this guy who she really did like, but _only_ as a fun-loving, funny friend.

A knock came at the door.

And Rachel didn't know if she were disappointed or relieved.

"_Ugh,_" Brody said as they pulled away from each other at the noise, Rachel's hand pushing him farther away from her so she could get up.

"Sorry," Rachel said, the word riding a wave of breathless giggles. My God, she was drunk on all this attention, high on how much desire had fueled Brody's end of the kiss. "It's Kurt; he keeps forgetting his keys."

Her fingers floated up to touch her lips, even though they weren't tingling or anything – she just couldn't believe that had really _happened, _that he had picked _her_. Her head was spinning with so many different thoughts and feelings.

She climbed to her feet and strode to the door on her stiletto-heeled, black velvet boots. She slid the door open, fully expecting to find Kurt standing there, and ready to shoot him some meaningful looks that would hopefully convey 'OHMYGOD, Brody and I were just making-out!'

But who she found was the last person she could have expected.

Quinn Fabray.

And it was amazing, so amazing, the effect this girl still had on her. Because the moment their eyes met, Rachel completely forgot about Brody. He literally vanished from her mind, like an ice cube thrown into fire and melting away into vapor, into nothing.

Anyone and everyone else in the world disappeared, didn't matter, because here was _Quinn Fabray_, standing before her.

She wore that same gorgeous, cobalt-blue-with-white-piping trench coat she'd had since tenth grade. A dark red scarf was tied loosely around her neck, matching the color of her lips and contrasting with the girl's familiar hair, golden-blonde and shoulder-length, in a way that made it shine like an angel's.

She was everything Rachel remembered and so much more, everything that still made Rachel's heart pick up speed as her stomach gave a delighted twist.

Rachel lit up from the inside-out, eyes brightening and mouth splitting her face open with a giant grin.

Quinn was lighting up right back at her, grinning from ear-to-ear, fierce hazel eyes swirling with intense greens and splashes of gold.

But Quinn's eyes were widened as she took in Rachel, because all she could think was: _She looks so…different._

She stared at Rachel and saw someone else from the girl she'd helped move into a dorm room just a month ago.

Rachel's big brown eyes were done up in far more makeup than Quinn had ever seen her use before. Her dark hair was longer, styled into loose ringlets, and high-lighted all over. She wore an outfit that showed off her figure: a tight, long-sleeved shirt paired with tiny shorts that displayed lean legs. And God, just look at those killer shoes – quite _literally_ killer, as in those razor-sharp heels could impale you.

Rachel had grown up.

It had been just a _month_ since they'd last seen each other, and already Rachel had transformed into someone Quinn almost couldn't recognize.

She was still beautiful as ever – still so achingly beautiful that Quinn's heart leapt right to her throat upon seeing her – but it just felt kind of…_wrong_ to see Rachel dressed like any run-of-the-mill New York socialite rather than her old quirky self that Quinn had found so endearing and adorable.

Not to mention the fact that, when Rachel had opened the door, the distinct smell of burning duck had washed over Quinn, as if Rachel had been cooking it earlier. This was ridiculous, though, since Rachel was a vegan, right? She had been the last time they'd hung out, at least.

"Hey, Rach!" Quinn exclaimed, long lashes fluttering almost as fast as her zooming heart. She wanted the girl in her arms, hugging her and embracing her and never letting go.

"Quinn!" Rachel exclaimed, and _she _wanted nothing more than to be throwing her arms around the blonde's neck and squeezing her and hugging her and never letting go. "Oh my _God_, what are you _doing_ here?" Excited giggles peppered the end of her question.

"Oh, you know, I was in the neighborhood and decided to stop by," Quinn joked, heart exploding with adoration when Rachel laughed in return.

"Actually, I – " Quinn started to lift up the bouquet of white gardenias when movement in the background caught her attention.

A guy was standing up from what looked distinctly like an indoor picnic.

From what looked distinctly like a _date_.

Quinn's smile sagged right off her face, landing somewhere in the vicinity of her knees. It joined the downward path of her sinking, throbbing heart. Utter defeat etched across her features, pulled down her shoulders and made her arm bring the flowers back down to her side.

Rachel saw every bit of the transformation from Happy Quinn to Anguished Quinn.

And with it, as her eyes took in the flowers – the _gardenias_, no less – everything clicked into place. She suddenly understood _exactly_ why Quinn was here, showing up out of the blue. Rachel's own grin faltered before dropping away completely, revealing an expression of shock, shame, and sadness all mixed together.

Brody spoke in the background, and Rachel felt like she was going to be sick all over again.

"Hey there," he said, walking over to stand beside Rachel. He held out his hand for Quinn to shake. "I'm Brody. You must be a friend of Rachel's?"

For one second, one long and terrible second, Quinn could only stare at him. He was like a frigging _Abercrombie model_, blinding her with his cheeky, toothpaste-spokesperson-worthy smile. He was tall with just the right amount of "hunky" muscles, dressed in what had to be a designer outfit.

Quinn had never felt so out of her league.

Forcing a tight smile, she shook his hand, pulling away almost immediately after it started.

"This is Quinn," Rachel told Brody, but her eyes were locked to the blonde, to the way the girl was staring at Brody with such a crestfallen expression. "She's one of my closest friends. We, uh, we went to high school together."

"Damn," Brody chuckled and flashed what he surely thought was a winsome grin. "You're from Lima, too?" He didn't wait for Quinn to answer, openly appraising her with his wide eyes. "What do they have you ladies drink in the water down there?"

Rachel ignored Brody's comment. She was far too busy taking in that bouquet of flowers, which Quinn seemed to be trying to hide behind her back.

"Are those for me?" Rachel asked, tone shining with shy hope and eyes lighting up again.

Quinn's head snapped up, a warm, itchy blush spreading all the way up from neck to forehead. She held up the flowers and provided a quick laugh. "Oh, these? No, actually, some guy gave them to me when I got off the train. Random act of kindness, I guess."

Brody placed his hand on Rachel's shoulder; Quinn gaped at it as if in a trance. She thought her stomach might collapse from all the knots coiling inside.

Rachel shrugged away from Brody's hand, tunnel-vision focused on that bouquet of flowers.

Most importantly, of what was _sticking out _of those flowers.

Camouflaged amongst the white gardenias was a small white envelope. And on it, in Quinn's neat penmanship, was: '_To Rachel._'

"I dunno," Brody was saying, "You might want to be careful with those, Quinn. If you got them from a stranger here in New York, they could be poisoned or something."

Quinn couldn't even bring herself to fake a chuckle at his joke. She just looked at Rachel meaningfully, trying to decipher the heaviness in those brown eyes, and said with confidence that fell flat, "You know what? I should get going. I'm sorry to have, uh…" She cleared her throat and flicked her eyes to the ceiling. "To have disrupted your date."

"No!" The word ripped from Rachel's throat, too loud and too abrupt. "Please, stay! You just got here. You're not interrupting anything!"

Brody looked down at Rachel with a quirked eyebrow. "She isn't?"

She ignored him, caring only about Quinn's reaction.

The blonde shook her head. "I just… I have to go." She spun around and strode off, head held high but legs moving too quickly, as if about to break into a run.

Rachel hurried back into her apartment and grabbed her copy of the key. Brody followed after her and said, "What was that all about?"

"Look, Brody, I'm sorry, but you need to leave." She marched back to the door. "I have to go after her."

"_What?_ Why?"

"Because I just do, okay?" Her voice rang with panic. "Please, don't be mad at me."

He stared at her, dumbfounded. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Brody, this has nothing to do with you," Rachel said, leading him out of her apartment and locking the door behind her. She stuffed the key into her pocket and tossed him an apologetic look. "Look, I've _really_ got to go."

Brody tried to kiss her goodbye, but Rachel ducked her head. "No," she said. "Not now." But the finality in her tone might as well have added 'not ever.'

She jogged down the hallway, taking the direction Quinn had. She rounded the corner and pushed past the 'Exit' door, leaving behind her apartment and welcoming the fresh evening air.

"Quinn?" she called, pausing to swivel her head to and fro. "QUINN!"

There! Up ahead!

Halfway up the sidewalk, Quinn froze in her tracks, shoulders stiffening at Rachel's voice. Rachel started running toward her, but Quinn was walking forward again.

Rachel watched as Quinn passed by a trash can and threw the gardenias into them, not even breaking stride as she did so.

When Rachel reached the trash can, she stopped to peer inside. It must have been emptied recently, for the only thing in there was the bouquet of flowers. She leaned in and pulled them out, taking a second or two to smooth reverent fingertips over the soft, delicate petals.

Her eyes fell on the envelope again.

She pulled it out, tore it open, and slid out the little slice of white cardstock inside.

Hungrily, Rachel's eyes absorbed the words, soaking them into her very soul.

'_This is the moment I finally tell you how I feel._

_This is the moment we finally get it right._

_All you have to do is say yes._

_I Love You,_

_Quinn'_

The whole world stopped spinning for a moment. All that existed was this note and these flowers and that damn _girl_. That beautiful and wonderful Quinn Fabray.

Sticking the envelope and note into her pocket, Rachel cradled the flowers against her chest and ran after Quinn.

Not even a second more of her life could be wasted.

She had to reach Quinn, reach this life-changing moment, _now_.

It was time they finally got it right.

* * *

Quinn couldn't believe her rotten luck.

Hadn't she been through enough crap in her life to warrant her at least _one_ happy ending?

There was sophomore year, when she'd gotten pregnant, kicked out of her home, and demoted from head cheerleader to the school's biggest loser, all in one swoop.

There was junior year, when she dated Sam Evans, then Finn again (for whatever stupid reason), all to try and convince herself that she didn't like girls, _especially_ not a girl like Rachel.

There was senior year, when she'd had a mental breakdown, been reunited with her child only to have her taken away again, and had to undergo the whole 'Rachel and Finn wedding debacle.' Oh yeah, and because of said debacle, she'd gotten into a car crash and lost the function of her legs for a month.

Now here she was, freshman year of college, ready for that fresh start she so desperately needed. And the moment she tried to take a leap, to finally spread her wings and fly, she got blown clear out of the sky and got her heart blown to pieces, all in one night.

Okay, Universe, if you're listening, that is _enough_ karmic retribution for one lifetime, don't you think? It's time she some actually _good _things start to happen to her.

She marched away from Rachel's apartment, unable to stand there even a second longer without crumbling to the floor. Her lower lip trembled to the same devastated tune as her legs.

Her eyes burned with prickly moisture as hot tears welled up and splashed over, down her face. She had to get away from there, away from Rachel and that dumb Brody guy and the sorry mess her life had turned into.

Quinn lifted her arm and swiped at her cheeks with her sleeve. She sniffled and tried to hold it all in, but a dam had burst inside her ducts, dripping a steady stream of tears down her quivering chin. Her heart was aching and throbbing and rending in two, then three, then a million pieces. How much shit did somebody have to go through before their life _finally_ gets better?

She exited outside, no longer feeling a relish in the breeze, and kept marching forward. She had to go forward, because there was no _way _she was going back _there_, back to the scene of the crime, of her downfall.

She had gotten halfway down the sidewalk, passing by people too absorbed in their own lives to pay attention to a quietly crying eighteen-year-old, when she heard someone calling her name.

When she heard _Rachel _calling her name.

"Quinn? … QUINN!"

Her legs froze of their own accord, body seizing up with a spasm of a sob. No, not now, she couldn't deal with seeing Rachel now, please God no.

Quinn started forward again, a bit faster this time. She glared at the stupid flowers with that stupid note she'd written that morning, so stupidly smiling to herself when she'd imagined Rachel reading it.

On impulsive anger, when she passed by a trash can, she chucked the gardenias inside, finding a sick relish in the clanging sound the bouquet made when it hit the bottom.

It was crazy, really, to think about how she had interrupted Rachel on a date. Because of all the horrible scenarios Quinn had obsessed about on the train ride over – Rachel laughing in her face when she confessed her feelings; Rachel not even being home and this trip and gathered courage being pointless; Rachel looking uncomfortable and saying she'd known all along about Quinn's feelings and had been hoping that Quinn wouldn't tell her so she wouldn't have to shoot her down – out of all of those things, not one of them, not even _one_ had been, 'What if I get there, and Rachel's with a guy?'

After Finn and Rachel had _finally_ ended things for good at the beginning of the summer, Quinn had thought for sure Rachel wouldn't move on with the first random guy she met after moving to New York. But apparently that's exactly what had happened.

Actually, it was quite fitting, the more Quinn thought about it, that a guy would be the final obstacle she would face with getting Rachel (the final obstacle she would face and _lose_, apparently.)

Besides Quinn's fears and insecurities toward dealing with who she really was, the only thing that had kept her from pursuing Rachel was one thing, plain and simple: Boys.

Sophomore year, Rachel had gone after Finn Hudson, dated Noah "Puck" Puckerman for like a day, dated Jesse St. James, and then chosen Finn.

Junior year, Rachel had grown sort of obsessed with Finn, dated him steadily until having a brief fling with Puck, then hooked up with Blaine Anderson at a party, went with Jesse to prom, and had ended up with Finn _again_.

Senior year, Rachel had only been with Finn, but that one boy was obstacle enough for Quinn, considering the couple spent the majority of the year revolving around _getting married_, and it had taken nothing short of Quinn getting into a severe car crash on their wedding day to stop them from proceeding with the nuptials.

So, yes, with that track record, it was only appropriate – poetic tragedy, really – that Quinn would summon all her bravery, take a multi-hour train ride to a different state, and show up on Rachel's doorstep with a bouquet of the most meaningful flower, and find her hopes and dreams of getting the girl dashed by yet another _boy_, this one even more mature and handsome and impressive than the rest.

Quinn swiped her hands at her face, trying to rid herself of another onslaught of tears.

She was rounding the corner of the sidewalk, entering a deserted part of town and coming up to a glowing lamppost, when a hand clamped onto her shoulder and spun her around.

She gave a shriek of fright and leapt backward, lifting her fists to fight off the attacker, when she saw that it was a terrible, threatening…

…_Rachel_.

She would have much preferred a mugger.

"Please," Rachel said, eyes wide and earnest. "Don't run away from me again."

Quinn ran her fingers under her eyes, hoping that her waterproof mascara had done its job. She crossed her arms over her chest and pressed her lips together, unable to speak.

"Why did you throw these away?" Rachel held up the flowers.

"Did you read the card?" Quinn asked.

"Yes."

"Then you have your answer."

Rachel stared up at Quinn, at the anguish in her eyes and the deep flush to her tear-stained cheeks. She hated seeing her so broken, hated how _she_ was the one to have done the breaking. She just wanted to make Quinn smile again, that sunny smile that always managed to brighten Rachel's whole world.

"You chose gardenias," Rachel said with a soft smile. "They mean 'secret love.'"

"Yeah, well, if you read the card, it's not so secret anymore," Quinn said, vulnerable tone hidden behind a bitter edge.

"Do you remember junior prom?" Rachel asked. "When Finn gave you that corsage? The white gardenia with the light green ribbon wrapped around to match your eyes?"

Quinn licked her lips, blinking away the last of her tears. "You picked it out, though, didn't you?" She already knew the answer. "Like Finn would even know what a corsage _is_, let alone the perfect one to get without help from his martyr of an ex-girlfriend back then."

"Yes," Rachel said, stroking her fingers over the beautiful pure-white flowers without even realizing it. "But just think about that: Gardenias symbolize 'secret love,' and _I _told Finn to get them for _you_." Her eyebrows jumped up meaningfully.

Quinn's sore heart suddenly felt a little better, as if Rachel's words were a healing salve rubbed across its cracks and breaks. "You mean…" She shook her head. "I just thought… I thought you did it for Finn. Of course, I _hoped _you did it for me, but…"

Rachel smiled at her, this beautifully bashful smile, lips closed and pulled up in a way that made dimples pop into her baby-apple cheeks. "I did it for you, Quinn. I've _always_ done it for you, okay?" Now she was the one to shake her head in disbelief. "I really don't get it, how a smart girl like you can be so dense. Because even after all the anvil-sized hints I've dropped on your head, you've never put two and two together."

Quinn's eyes widened with pure, unabashed hope; she could feel her heart moving back into place, pieces clicking together, slowly but surely. She was speechless, too overwhelmed by the weight of Rachel's statement.

"Even since last year's prom, you still just don't get it," Rachel sighed. "You really _don't_ understand what you mean to me. You're _Quinn_ – you're the girl I spent years chasing after, just so I could call you a friend. You're the one who I had to give my panties to Jacob Ben Israel just so he wouldn't expose _your_ big secret. You're the one who I spent almost every day of this past summer vacation with, dreading going to New York and having to be without you for weeks at a time."

Quinn sniffled a little and giggled, blushing with pleasure. "Really? I don't think _you_ get what you mean to _me_. I've been in love with you for years now, Rachel," she admitted. "Maybe even since the moment we met."

Rachel's smile stretched all the way up her face, joy flowing from her eyes. Without warning, she leapt up and flung her arms around Quinn's neck, catching that familiar scent of strawberry-shampoo. The bouquet of flowers in her hands pressed against the back of Quinn's head.

Quinn's heart filled with warmth and happiness and _love_, radiating straight through her fingertips; she released an airy laugh and wrapped her arms around Rachel's waist, merging their torsos together in that perfect fit they had.

When they pulled away, Rachel pressed the softest kiss to Quinn's lips. It was a 'yes'; it was a moment that had been building up for years; it was a promise of so many more to come. It made the girls' stomachs flutter and hearts dance.

"I want to be with you so badly," Rachel said. "But I think we need to wait a few weeks, just so I can get myself together. I'm sort of a mess!" She laughed at herself, shook her head. "My dream school is turning out to be more of a nightmare with my monstrous dance teacher and mean classmates. I was just on a pseudo-_date_ with a guy who I only like as a friend, kissing him just because I was so desperate for attention. You deserve me at my best, Quinn, not when I'm a mess like this."

Quinn took the hand of Rachel's not holding the flowers between both of hers. She looked right into Rachel's eyes and said, "I've waited four years; I think I can wait four weeks." A playful grin came out to play. "But just so you know, I want you at your best, your worst, all of it. I want to be there for all the important days of your life, even the messy ones."

Rachel grinned back, savoring the warmth of Quinn's hands encompassing hers. "Well, if you say so." She laughed: it was genuine and pure, warming up Quinn's stomach like a cup of hot chocolate.

"By the way, in regards to your note?" Rachel said. "The answer is _definitely_ 'yes.' I love you, too, and I'm glad you can _finally_ understand that."

The two girls giggled at this. Quinn moved her hands to Rachel's waist and tugged their torsos together again.

Their eyes locked – Rachel peering up from impossibly long lashes, her top teeth pulling at her bottom lip in this sexily innocent way; Quinn gazing down with a small but sunny smile playing at her own lips, unable to believe that she was now the luckiest girl in the universe.

They kissed again, longer this time, slow and passionate like a kindling fire roaring to a crescendo. Mouths molding into one, Rachel dropped the gardenias to the ground so she could twine her fingers into Quinn's hair. Quinn pressed her hands into the small of Rachel's back. They tasted each other, this taste made of love and happiness and the sweetness that can only come from true love's kiss.

It had taken them years and far too many roadblocks and pitfalls, but in the end, they'd made it.

In the end, they got it right.


End file.
